


From a Terrible Patient to Another

by TheDarkFlygon



Series: The Agenda [6]
Category: Caduceus | Trauma Center Series
Genre: Appendicitis, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, F/M, Father Figures, Father-Son Relationship, Gen, LGBTQ Themes, Medical Procedures, POV Multiple, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-27 23:08:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22793776
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheDarkFlygon/pseuds/TheDarkFlygon
Summary: There are two traits everyone ought to know about Derek: he's terrible at lying, and he's terrible at being a patient.There may be a third thing, depending on the context. Not that he'd tell you.
Relationships: Greg Kasal & Derek Stiles, Greg Kasal/Cybil Myers
Series: The Agenda [6]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1628578
Kudos: 5





	From a Terrible Patient to Another

**Author's Note:**

> _I stand corrected. Greg AND Cybil Kasal for Smash._  
>  I wrote this thing during a stream on my Touitche with a couple friends, so if the formatting is different than usual, there's that. I wrote it on Google Docs because MS Word is a little bitch who hates OBS.  
> My 9PM self wants you to know he absolutely made universal free healthcare a thing in the Agendaverse on purpose and totally not because he's a honhon croissant tour Eiffel douchebag who forgot American ambulances costed a kidney and your soul with it. Thanks Doc for reminding me of that, btw.  
> I swear one day I'll write Derek finally having the capacity to come out on his own terms. For now, huh... sorry pal, you gotta be outed yet again. But hey, at least, we now have a Squad Dad and a Squad Mom! God I love Cybil/Greg.  
> Also, this story references a bit of a previous Agenda story, "Confessions Under the OR Lights". Just in case you get confused as to where Naomi barged into this mess.

For what must be the twelfth time already, Angie realizes all over again how much of a terrible liar Derek is.

It’s nothing new, sure; but he somehow always find a way to make it even more ludicrous the next time he does try fooling her like the naïve little girl she hasn’t been for the past decade or so. Perhaps less ludicrous than trying to tell everyone it was his fault for getting infected with GUILT a couple months ago (although he may have genuinely believed that one lie), yet the fact nonetheless remains that he sometimes comes up with ridiculously outlandish claims. 

So, what is it, this time, that she finds so ridiculous? Ah, perhaps the fact he’s telling her he’s doing absolutely fine, nothing wrong, he swears, when he’s been clutching his abdomen for the past two days. Could be that… 

Now that they’re sitting in a coffeeshop directly facing each other like the bickering couple they aren’t, she has the perfect opportunity to strike again. Not physically, obviously, because it seems like her colleague is in enough pain already; verbally, like she’s always been good at (or so it seems). She’s damn sure something’s wrong and that this “something wrong” could be potentially lethal if left untreated. Doctors really make for the worst patients, don’t they. 

The fact they’re face-to-face helps her notice even more of the little, wrong details she hasn’t spotted before. He’s pale, with crevasses for bags under the eyes, and yet his face is flushed and she can see (and somewhat smell, but she’d rather not focus on that, thank you) just how much he’s sweating. He can deny having a fever as many times as he feels like doing so; it won’t make it go away miraculously. Time to call him out on it for the nth time in the past fifty hours…

“Derek, are you sure you’re fine?” She asks. “It seems like your stomach ache hasn’t gotten any better since Wednesday.”

“It… really hasn’t, I’m suspecting something’s wrong,” he replies, glancing at his hand clutching the fabric of his sweater.

“I’m pretty sure a doctor of your fame has to know what it could mean, right?”

“C’mon, Angie, we both know I don’t have time for that...”

Is he right? Yes. Does it still sound like a terrible excuse? Also yes. As always, she’s going to have to press forward to get a reaction out of this grown-up man… 

“Let me guess. You still haven’t eaten, but you’re still nauseous for a yes or a no? You’re still certain this is bad food poisoning?”

“I’ve told you, Angie, I just don’t have the time for this… You know as well as I do that Caduceus has a conference to hold soon, and…”

“Believe me, Caduceus doesn’t need your appendix to burst into flames.”

“I… I know, but…”

Angie’s smug resting face melts when she sees Derek’s expression suddenly turn into anguish. Not that he was exactly looking fine until now, but he’s just gotten worse and the cold sweat running down her back tells her there’s something very, very wrong happening right in front of her. 

Without thinking twice, she rises up from her chair, causing everyone else in the small café to glance back at her, baristas and other clients alike. Grabbing her phone, she feels a hand do so with her arm, prompting her to stare at her colleague. 

“I’m gonna call an ambulance and you _won’t_ stop me, Derek Stiles! It’s about time you see a doctor for yourself!”

For a nurse calling a hospital about a patient, Angie doesn’t sound like the most relaxed person. Actually, she’s anxious enough for the receptionist to ask if _she_ ’s fine. Well, she currently isn’t the one almost screaming in pain as he gets internally stabbed, so she better suck it up and show a proud façade. It isn’t the first time and it certainly won’t be the last.

The nearest hospital is a place she knows very well, so she’s at least relieved on that front, but it doesn’t make the situation any less-nerve wracking. What tells her it isn’t too late? What tells her the ambulance will be on time and not stuck in some sudden traffic jam? Calm down, Angie, it’s not about you, it’s about him… You can’t panic now!

As they wait for a saviour, she kneels down to Derek’s level. He’s somehow still sitting at the table, a fist clenched and the other almost clawing through his top. She only needs to graze his skin to know he is indeed running more than a “little fever, probably a cold, it’s the season”, if that wasn’t obvious already. He’s a worse patient than little kids running around hospital corridors, she says!

With wide gestures and loud words, she tells people in the café to make room for an ambulance. She should have asked before, she’ll admit it, but her instincts knocked at the door before her manners did. The staff and other clients complied, with most of the latter either changing tables or leaving if their cups were empty. As to theirs, if hers is empty, Derek’s is still mostly full, and she suspects he hasn’t even had the luxury to pay attention to what he was getting served. Having your body turn against you does tend to produce attention deficiency. 

Angie hears pained whispers near her shoulder. 

“I… I don’t get it…”

“What don’t you get?” She tries asking as calmly as possible. It’s fairly ironic for her to have to force herself to do so when she’s seen him in a much worse position in a much less familiar setting…

“It… It just got so much worse… so suddenly...” He gags, choking on either air or bile. She may have a bag on her, she always has so much useless stuff in her purse, like a scalpel “just in case”...

“You’ll be fine, I promise…!” She doesn’t sound bold enough to her tastes. “You’ll be fine! Just hang in there, okay? Help’s coming!”

Like back in Europe, she feels useless against the internal threat. All she can focus on are words that may or may not have a purpose… 

Time goes slowly after the call comes to a halt. Her fingers are trembling and she wishes she wasn’t so emotionally vulnerable, that she could be like Naomi and ignore her personal connections when her job requires her to do so; but then, is she really a nurse, in this situation? This was supposed to be her day off. Not quite the relaxing Friday she hope to have with a colleague she may be closer to than anyone else in the workplace (who is she kidding? She’s closer to Derek than to her own mother, at this point). Life happens, sure, but does it always have to happen so badly?

There’s no true rest for them until at least retirement, she supposes. Even if it wasn’t her day off, Derek’s body would have still turned against him. In a way, they’re lucky she was there when his pain flared up, because the poor man doesn’t seem like he can hold a phone for more than a millisecond at the moment. It’ll be fine, it’ll be fine… And, even if she doesn’t believe it, then maybe repeating it to herself as a vaguely attempted uncertain fact will make it real. This is not a theory, this is the future. 

When the screeching sirens finally arrive, Angie lets go of a slightly relieved breath, her hands still firmly planted on her friend’s shoulders despite the shivers going through them.

* * *

They’re casually, peacefully sipping on a late morning coffee when urgent footsteps rise from the corridor and slam the door of the lounge room wide open. Cybil puts her cup down as Amanda’s s frantically panicked face appears before them.

It’s going to be one of _these_ days, isn’t it?

“Dr Kasal!! Dr Kasal!! We’ve got an urgent patient in and the emergency service is already busy!! We need you both in the OR immediately!!”

“Calm down, Amanda”, Cybil interjects. “Tell us what’s wrong. Calmly.”

The young nurse takes a deep breath, a deep breath out and steadies herself. 

“We’ve just gotten a patient with a late-term appendicitis! He needs immediate surgery! I’ve already prepared his chart and-”

“Give it to me, Amanda,” Greg responds, taking the notepad she’s handing him. “I’m going to take care of it. Just get scrubbed up, okay? We’re coming.”

“Will do!”

They all leave the room after the remaining coffee in the cups is emptied in a couple gulps. Greg is used to surprise emergency cases like this one enough to be able to casually walk rapidly while scanning an entire patient profile in the meantime (without bumping into people like Derek would do trying to imitate that walk when he was still working at Hope. Ah, the memories). While he’s at it, better start the pre-operation conference in the corridor (even if that’s most likely going to cause Cybil to roll her eyes). 

“The patient is a twenty-seven-year-old man with a slender constitution. Aside from his inflamed appendix, which seems to have festered for a couple days before he got wheeled in, he doesn't suffer from any known ailment. His last operation dates back to a few months ago for a GUILT infection. We shouldn’t have any issue with it as long as we act fast and steady.”

“Got it, chief.”

They get scrubbed up and enter the OR without hesitation nor time lost. It’s a routine procedure, so they have no reason to be hesitant anyway. They better get on with it quickly if they don’t want the patient’s condition to get worse anyway.

Greg is also used enough to his job that he doesn’t focus on anything that doesn’t it. That includes the patient’s identity if it’s an emergency. If this one clearly isn’t going to be a walk-in-walk-out case, he’s also nothing out of the ordinary, especially after the GUILT epidemic from a few months ago that almost ended his wife’s and his lives. Still, there’s a little scar on there that’s intriguing him; but he has no time to be pondering about it. The patient’s life is in his hands, after all.

“Scalpel, please.”

The procedure really is as usual. The abdominal tissues are a little inflated, as expected of an appendicitis. He reaches the culprit.

“Syringe and anti-inflammatory.”

The zone is as inflamed as expected for a case that has had a few days to develop. This man is really lucky to be operated on now and not any later. The consequences would have been much heavier to bear if that had been the case.

“Wire.”

Choking the danger is essential. 

“Scalpel.”

Proceed with precision, speed and caution. One doesn’t need the Healing Touch to do so. At least, not when the world isn’t at stake.

“Done. Sutures, please.”

And one more procedure well done, another life saved. He’ll get to know the patient later, so…

No, no. The scar still lingers in his thoughts, even as he leaves the OR and scrubs behind. It seems like Cybil has got something on her mind too; so, at least, he’s not alone with this issue. 

“What’s wrong?” He asks her.

“You haven’t read the patient’s name on his profile yet again, haven’t you?”

“Well, you know we don’t have much time when we get emergency cases like this.” He still glances at the chart in his hands, only then realizing why she’s pointing it out now. Well, at least, he’s followed through with his own lessons…

“Like teacher, like student. He’s as terrible of a patient as you are, it seems!”

He chuckles at her remark. “I think Angie told me so in a letter a few months ago already. I can’t say I’m surprised.” He gives the chart back to Amanda. “Tell me when Mr Stiles will have woken up. 

“Will do, Doctor!” She replies as she runs off into the distance, clutching the notepad against her chest.

They get back into the lounge room. It’s his turn to pay them a coffee.

“What’s on your mind, then, Greg?” Cybil asks as she leans against the wall, cup in hand. 

“Something doesn’t make sense with Derek’s chart.”

She crosses her arms as she takes on a curious stance.

“What do you mean? You think Amanda’s made a mistake?”

“I doubt this is her fault. It must have been written in his medical records beforehand.”

“And what’s this thing that doesn’t make sense, then? I haven’t seen the chart for myself for more than the measurements.”

Ah, right. Cybil must have recognized Derek by his traits. Of course she doesn’t depend on a chart like he does on that point.

“It’s because of a scar.”

“A scar?”

“You probably haven’t seen it, but he had a horizontal scar on the middle of his abdomen.”

“I don’t think I’ve seen this kind of scar before. Well, not on men, at least. My mother has one from a hysterectomy from years ago, but…”

“It’s a hysterectomy scar, there’s no doubt about it.”

“Wait, how?” Cybil asks with rising questionment painting on her face.

“The thing that bothers me is that Derek’s profile doesn’t indicate he’s...” That’s a thing he never tried to put into words before. “That he’s born with something such an operation is meant to remove. Someone has tampered with his medical records.”

He’s rising that point because it’s worrisome to say the least. Such tampering could have long-lasting, life-changing outcomes and he’s not keen on having his mentee’s condition get ravaged by a condition that, technically, couldn’t be diagnosed without the information that has been blacked out. Was it Derek himself that modified it? He should’ve looked over it longer than he did back when they had to hospitalize him for a three-day coma… He could dig through the archives for it… Or maybe someone modified it in Europe. If the GUILT infection mentioned on the profile really is the one he got in the UK, then it could’ve been the surgeon who operated on him back there....

“If you’re this concerned, you should just ask him directly once he’ll have woken up and have the painkillers out of his system, don’t you think?” Cybil’s voice breaks him away from his thoughts. 

“Ah, sorry for zoning out,” he apologizes with a hand putting his tie back on correctly, checking his watch with the other. “We should get on with our day. Ready for your own rounds?”

“As always, Dr Kasal.”

“Then let’s go, Dr Kasal.”

* * *

His rounds for the day end with, fairly obviously, his latest patient. Greg knocks on the door, feeling a little strange about reading such a familiar name on such a familiar plate. Despite the familiarity of the both of them, meshed together, they just don’t feel close to home at all. Once he gets a response, he enters.

His mentee doesn’t look like he’s doing very well. This impression could be because he’s never seen his former student in a hospital bed aside from the power-strain-induced coma from a year ago. He, also, most likely doesn’t look as bad as his mentor himself did when he was stuck in a bed at Caduceus. At least, they’re both alive. That, in itself and considering everything, is a miracle.

“Dr Kasal?!” Derek yells as he realizes who exactly is the person he just allowed to come in. “I-I mean, hello, Doctor…”

“Hello, Mr Stiles. I’m the one who operated on you. Or should I say Dr Stiles?”

“...Derek’s fine, Doctor…” He scratches the back of his head with an embarrassed smile.

“Anyway, how are you?”

“Huh… Sore? You know, post-surgery stuff…” Very precise. Greg really is talking to a patient rather than a fellow surgeon. “I’m otherwise fine, I guess. It was an appendicitis, right?”

“Yes. I’m surprised Angie isn’t with you.”

“Oh, she was here until a few hours ago. She had to go back home because she’s on the night shift tomorrow…” Like a patient, he also yawns after each sentence. “She wouldn’t leave, so I told her to go home, she’d be all tired tomorrow if she stayed here all night…”

That does make sense. 

“Are you fine enough for me to ask you a few questions, Derek?”

“Oh, sure, go for it…”

Greg takes Angie’s seat next to the bed, the incriminated chart in his hands. 

“Can you confirm to me what surgeries you’ve had before?”

“Hmm…” Derek sounds hesitant for such a basic question. Maybe his interview can wait until tomorrow… “Well, there was my GUILT surgery… All thanks to Naomi Kimishima…” So here is his culprit: the previous chart didn’t have the disrupency. “Before that, I got, a… what’s its name already… masectomy? I think?”

“Close enough. It’s mastectomy.”

“Yeah, that! And then a… Ah, shit, I forgot… Hyserectomy, I think?”

“Hysterectomy, yes.”

Suddenly, Derek’s shoulders rocket into the hair, as if he got woken up by mere words despite the medicine still lingering in his bloodstream.

“Wait, I have an explanation for this, I-” His face distorts in anguish and panic. “I swear, I’m a man, Dr Kasal! I’m not a fraud or anything, Naomi just changed things out for my privacy, and-”

“Calm down, Derek.”

“My birth name wasn’t on my chart, right? I changed it myself, so, huh… D-don’t blame me, Naomi, please, Doctor! She did it for my sake, so scream at me if you need a culprit, but-”

“Derek, please calm-”

“I’m no monster, please, don’t-”

“Derek, that’s _enough_! Have I called Mrs Stiles by accident?!”

The sudden snap in his voice makes his mentee’s verbal thrashing cease. His shoulders go down at last. His decomposing face tells Greg he may have gone a little too far… 

“No, you haven’t… Why?”

“Then, why are you panicking? I did call you Mr Stiles, as far as I know.”

“Even knowing this? I mean, biologically, I’m-”

“The only reason I was worried about your medical record being tampered with was for your own sake. As long as you remember what risks you may come across, you’ll be fine.”

“You’re not going to out Naomi or me for any of this, right?”

“Absolutely not.”

Greg gives his mentee a smile to counter the bitterness he can see forming on the latter’s face.

“I don’t know who’s told you you were a fraud, but you aren’t. Just keep that in mind.”

He then gets up from the chair, the weight he came into the room with lifted from his shoulders.

“Oh, huh, Dr Kasal?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for saving me. I owe you one now…”

“Then I hope, for my own sake, that you’ll forever be indebted to me, Derek.”

A smile finally shows up on the patient’s mouth, accompanied by a little laugh.

“Can I repay you any other way, then?”

“By taking care of yourself. Cybil just pointed out to me my tendencies may have rubbed onto you. Don’t be like me.”

“Dr Myers did?” Sounds like someone doesn’t remember having recently attended a wedding. “As in?”

“It seems like doctors make for the worst patients, Derek.”

On these words, Greg left the room with a “goodbye, see you tomorrow”.

**Author's Note:**

> just imagine almost-1AM me reading this on top of his Google Doc file:  
> "(reminder: put in your author’s notes that TC/Agendaverse is set in a universe where healthcare is free for all, not because you’re a baguette douchebag, but because it makes more sense, bullshit something like that, can’t be harder than telling Mahot you liked Aragon’s writing last year with a straight face)"  
> Now to wish my former lit prof never finds my AO3!


End file.
